


Sympathy

by provocation



Category: Westworld (TV)
Genre: First Time, Identity Porn, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 06:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19043434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/provocation/pseuds/provocation
Summary: He’s never proud of doing this, but every man has needs.





	Sympathy

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [logandelos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/logandelos) and [adrianicsea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianicsea) for being quick betas on this. This is my first time writing Lee (or Logan (or anything that isn't about the women of this show, to be real)), so feedback is greatly appreciated and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Quick content warning: there are technical consent issues due to a delayed identity reveal, but everyone wants everything that happens. Also, there is some discussion of host mistreatment.
> 
> The title is from Vampire Weekend's new album, and that song, along with many others, can be found on my ever growing playlist of Westworld inspiration songs [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/22jqv6wssnvtmhwbscejvnjia/playlist/5S8AwmRZALUNuh27FVJMi6?si=Xt6Xx_JyT5aBvtR7TmfVQA)!

He’s never proud of doing this, but every man has needs. For the most part Lee has managed to shove those needs to the backburner, since in the real world things only ever progress as far as flirting. The truth is that he doesn’t give a fuck about any of his coworkers here— maybe Hughes, but she’s gay anyway. Nobody else titillates him enough to actually pursue; wining and dining sounds so fun in practice but Lee always gets bored after the first date.

That rules out one of the three options for sex; if he can’t ( _won’t_ ) woo employees, then the next logical option is the guests. Except nobody in their right mind would spend a year’s salary in a day just to sleep with _him,_  not when they could have any of their fantasies manifested without consequence in the park.

Which brings him to option number three: the hosts. Again, he isn’t proud of it. He can’t overstate that. Every time he comes to do this— to misuse his power as a writer and his position— it doesn’t feel like a _conquest_ because he hasn’t really won them over.

So to assuage his already damaged morality compass, Lee only ever selects the hosts who he thinks would want it. That lowers his options severely, but at least he isn’t dragging someone like Dolores into something she’d never do of her own volition. Lee’s taste is usually more dangerous; which is amusing, because by the end of every session the host usually cuddles him to sleep. Lee certainly isn’t proud of  _that_ either, but spooning is the least embarrassing part of seeking out a robot for sex. Probably.

His favourite is Hector, although Maeve is something else. Sometimes the madam observes him so closely that Lee feels like the merchandise on display, like she’s got all the power and he’s only her pawn. It’s almost too much sometimes, so Hector is a nice substitute.

(Plus, Lee really, really likes the way that the bandit holds him down while they’re going at it. He never claimed to be a saint, alright?)

He’s expecting Hector today, as he walks into the saloon specially cleared for his entrance. Nobody watches these sessions; Lee had been worried about voyeurs in QA snooping, but apparently in his limited time here he’s already amassed an impressive reputation as a nerd. Hughes once informed him that nobody wanted to watch him communicate back and forth with the hosts for hours on end like a fucking twelve-year-old talking to Siri, and that he was worse than Ford.

Lee did not dissuade her of the notion; if that’s what everyone thinks he gets up to, he won’t make an effort to change their mind. Also he does like talking to the hosts, because it always feels better than regular conversation. It’s good practice for the hosts as improvisers, and interesting work for him as their writer. Sometimes Hector will say things funnier than Lee could have possibly thought up, and Lee usually jots them down to plagiarize later.

If he’s honest, he’s unusually excited for today. It’s been an inhumanely busy week thanks to Bernard and his lack of concern for anyone’s sleep schedules, and Lee has barely had time to eat or drink or piss, so wanking off has been out of the question. Thankfully, Hector is really good at it.

Just the prospect is thrilling, and Lee suddenly decides he needs a drink. Or maybe nine. He likes getting loose and sloppy so it won’t hurt if the hosts want to play human and throw him around a little. Once he’d been pissed enough to let Angela fuck him with whatever had been closest at the time, which is probably in his top ten list of all time. God, he misses Angela. He should call her up sometime.

Almost as soon as he’s thought it, the door swings open. Uncanny, really; he knows the park is tracking brain activity at all times, but surely they haven’t figured out telepathy yet. Lee doesn’t look over at the entrance, instead hoisting himself up over the bar to grab a dusty brown bottle and two highball glasses. He settles down into his seat, pouring shots— it’s triple sec, Cointreau, he suspects. It’s not the usual hard brown liquor Hector prefers, but the sweet scent of orange peels is a welcome change of pace. Lee doesn’t mind switching things up every now and then.

He expects to feel Hector’s breath on the back of his neck any moment now. His shoulders almost hurt from the tension, so Lee exhales— shakily— and stretches them out. Disappointingly, Hector doesn’t approach right away. Lee swivels in his seat, cradling his glass between his middle finger and thumb. “Been a while, hasn’t it,” he starts to say as he turns to the door.

Except. When he turns to the door, Hector isn’t there. Instead there’s a man who stands almost as tall as Hector, but is built differently. He still towers over Lee, even when Lee stumbles out of his seat at the bar, barely managing to hang onto his glass. “You’re not— I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“No,” the man shakes his head. “Don’t think we’ve met.” He saunters— a word Lee despises but there’s really no other descriptor suitable for the way the man _moves—_ over to the bar, slightly limping in one leg. “I didn’t think there would be anyone else here, not with all the Confederados buzzing around these parts.”

“Right,” Lee nods, uncertain. He has to be a guest— if he were a host, Lee would know him. Probably, anyway. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of his head that he knows this guy from _somewhere_ , but Lee is still fairly new here so he hasn’t managed to acquaint himself with all the regulars... or all the hosts. “Well. I’m not exactly frightened of the Army of New Virginia.”

“Aren’t you a brave one,” the man says, cocking an eyebrow. He reaches past Lee to grab the unattended glass of liquor, clinking it against Lee’s own glass as he draws his hand back. Lee gulps down dry air nervously, as the combination of the sauntering and the smirking and the fucking _cockiness_ about every single thing about this guy works its magic.

Then the man raises his glass to Lee’s lips, and Lee has no choice but to take the shot. As he does, a hand slides around his glass to pilfer it away, and even though Lee hadn’t yet taken a sip it still feels like swapping spit. He reels from the alcohol for a moment, watching the man take the hefty shot Lee poured for himself like it’s water.

“I’m sorry,” Lee repeats, not sure what he’s apologizing for. “I do— I do know you from somewhere.” The stranger’s eyebrow shoots up again, and even that quirk looks familiar. He’s about to say something else when Lee interjects, “You’re a host, of course.”

Now the man’s eyes bulge out, and he looks at Lee completely confused. “ _What?”_

“Well, you don’t know that you are,” Lee claps a hand on the guy’s shoulder. “I mean, obviously, otherwise… otherwise fucking none of this would work at all. But you’re not… like me, I meant. Never mind, I don’t think you’ll be able to understand that either.”

Sure enough, the man just returns to his earlier state. Except now his smirk is even wider, threatening to stretch his face out beyond repair. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking me.”

“No, of course you don’t,” Lee sighs. He wishes he’d brought a tablet to examine this mystery host’s backstory and core traits, but he usually goes without— by now, he knows all the right things to say to Hector. He considers whipping out his phone and looking it up, but he really doesn’t want to give QA any more reason to spy on him than they already have. “Alright. What’s your name?”

“Logan,” the man says, still smiling wide. Like there’s some joke Lee doesn’t know about.

“See, now, even that sounds familiar,” Lee snaps his fingers, and then slams his fist down against the bar. Logan grins like the cat that got the fucking cream. “What are you, um… well, _Logan_ , what brings you into Confederado territory?”

“I was just looking for a drink,” Logan replies, rolling his glass around on the wood. He’s still so hot, and exactly the right height, and did he mention _hot?_ Of course all the hosts are built to be naturally sexy, but there’s something about Logan that suggests he’d be a really, really good fuck. Maybe it’s that limp, like he’s got a whole life and past that led him into this bar. “Like I said, I didn’t think I’d find anyone else here.”

“Well, you found it,” Lee says, and then indicates the bottle. “The drink, that is. Shall we?”

Logan pours this time, three fingers for each of them, and Lee watches said fingers against and around the edges of the bottle. He stays quiet as Logan takes his own shot this time, and tries to rationalize the spike of disappointment in his chest. It’s natural to want hot men to spill their drinks down your throat. Even if those hot men happen to be robots.

Thankfully, Logan seems willing and ready. This is the kind of guy he could never land in the real world, because a real person who looks like Logan would probably have hundreds of suitors knocking down his door. Despite the readiness Lee still wants to try to seduce the man— apparently he is in the mood for wining and dining. He means to say something cool but what comes out is, “I like your hat.”

It’s the type of standard wide-brimmed cowboy hat you’d see the guests wearing, only there’s a little black feather stuck into the velvet hatband. Logan tips it to Lee, and then takes it off. He’s even more beautiful in the full light, dark eyes searching for something unknowable. “Thanks. I notice you don’t have one.”

“No,” is all Lee gets out before Logan is settling his own hat on top of Lee’s head. It smells like sweat, which should really, truly be less appealing than it is. Lee smiles beneath the cowboy hat, fighting the ridiculous urge to ask Logan if he looks like a real bandit. “In my line of work there’s no set dress code.”

“And what would that be?” Logan retrieves his hat, placing it down beside their glasses. “Barkeep?”

“No,” Lee laughs. “A writer. I write— well, you. I just got a promotion so now I really do write all of you; to be honest, it’s fucking exhausting.” He isn’t sure where that truthfulness came from, but he means it. “I know you can’t understand any of this but that’s not… it’s fine. Never mind. I’m a writer, what do you do?”

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a writer,” Logan answers after a second of processing. “For one thing, you’re way too hot. In my experience writers are usually wallflowers, although you are doing an excellent job of living up to the tortured alcoholic trope. And trust me, I should know about that.”

“Analysis,” Lee blurts out when he gets ahold of himself. It takes a second. “I— why did you— why did you say that? That was _improv?”_

Logan stares at Lee, making him feel like a bit of an idiot. He never usually makes the hosts break character during these rendezvous, but that answer just seemed so completely off-base. After a horrific moment where Lee doesn’t breathe at all, Logan finally answers in a stilted tone, “Yes. I made that up. I… have no script for meeting you.”

“It’s fine,” Lee says, running a hand through his hair. He’s too flustered now, questioning his own sanity. Why can’t he ever just shut up and accept a good thing on the rare occasion that the universe is willing to give it to him? “It’s fine, I’m s— it’s fine, Logan. Continue.”

“Okay,” Logan says, uncomfortable for a moment before easing back into it. “Do you... like writing?”

“Yes,” Lee admits. He does, although it’s usually not this stressful. “What about you, what’s your story?”

Again there’s a brief pause before Logan smiles once more. Lee is relieved to see it, sinking down into his chair again. He doesn’t know why that one moment put him so on edge, but if he _can_ relax he’d like to try to do so. “I rode with the Confederados for a while, actually. But things went south, so I defected and now I’m trying out the highwayman life.”

Oh, he’s the bad guy. That makes a lot of sense, given the black hat and intimidating air (and the sharp jab about Lee’s alcoholism). Lee is charmed despite himself, pouring them another round. The smell is less harsh with every new serving, and when Lee leans in to hand Logan his glass, he can only smell the orange hanging heavy on his breath.

For a moment, Lee forgets how to talk. “Do you… do you like being a highwayman?”

“Yes,” Logan answers, quicker than anything else he’s given. His fingers curl around the glass, taking it out of Lee’s hand. “It has its perks. Being able to do what I want, whenever I want, with whoever I want— that’s nice.”

“Uh-huh,” Lee mutters.

“And I thought I’d miss my sister, or my friend from the old job,” there’s that backstory creeping in, “but turns out being alone isn’t so bad. You wander into some interesting stories when you’re alone.” Logan leans in. They’re standing almost impossibly close now. “I like the freedom, the lack of _restraint_. I can just wander into any bar I like, and fuck anyone I want. It’s intoxicating.”

“I’ll bet,” Lee says, voice little more than a whisper. He reaches for his glass on the bar but Logan’s hand wraps around his wrist before he can take it, and suddenly Logan’s glass is at his lips again, pushing the shot down his throat without asking. Lee swallows it readily, and before he can even wince Logan is there to replace the glass with his mouth.

He’s got a hard rule not to kiss the hosts, because that seems entirely too intimate for these clandestine sessions and Lee has never been very into kissing anyway. That changes in an instant, as he rethinks his rule and personal stance and Logan kisses him like he’s sharing a secret. He was right— it is intoxicating.

Lee gasps as Logan moves down to kiss his neck, and then without warning bites hard against the skin there. The thought glances across his mind that Logan shouldn’t be able to hurt him at all and surely this counts; except that isn’t true, not in the outer towns, not when the guests are asking for it.

Burning up with impatience, Lee starts tugging at Logan’s clothes desperately. Logan doesn’t pull away from his throat to help, too absorbed in his task; until he finally retreats, looking at Lee’s neck with a pleased expression.

“There’s blood there,” Logan says, and presses his thumb against the hickey so hard it hurts. God, he gave Lee a _hickey_. Nobody’s given him a hickey since he was fourteen. “Real blood. You have a real pulse.”

This is exceptionally weird dialogue, but Lee can’t say that it isn’t turning him on. He also can’t say anything with regards to Logan’s blood, so he just pulls the host into another kiss. Logan comes willingly, but his thumb stays on the hickey; in fact, he puts more pressure on the bruise as he bites Lee’s lower lip, and Lee nearly shouts into the kiss.

“I’m going to suck you off now,” Logan warns, and that’s all the advance notice he gets before the host is dropping to his knees.

“Here?!” shrieks Lee, but Logan seems to have no problem whatsoever with indiscretion. He supposed there’s no one around; the only person who might come and join them would be Hector, and his presence wouldn’t exactly be unwelcome.

Lee resigns himself to his fate, weaving his hand through Logan’s dusty black hair as the host opens his pants and yanks them down unceremoniously. It should be embarrassing, and it is. It’s also, unfortunately (fortunately?) very fucking hot.

Logan doesn’t waste another second, wrapping his hand and then his mouth around Lee’s cock like a professional. Lee gapes and tries not to yank Logan’s hair too hard; he fails, but the sharp pain only garners a loud groan from Logan, muffled on Lee’s dick.

“Oh fuck,” Lee says, pulling his hands away. If Logan keeps using his mouth like that this is going to be embarrassingly short-lived— and although he doesn’t think he’ll have a problem getting it up again, he doesn’t want to waste any time. “Oh, fucking fuck, your mouth. You really were made for—”

Lee cuts himself off, disgusted by his own mind. Logan doesn’t seem to mind, still making little noises as he bobs back and forth and takes more each time. “Fuck,” Lee repeats, shaking his head. “I’m going to— you have to stop, or I’m gonna come—” _Down your throat_ is the unfinished end to that fragment, which wouldn’t usually be a bad thing with a partner as enthusiastic as this. But in this case, Lee really, really isn’t keen on his DNA being captured inside a host, so he tries to remember his training. “Fre-freeze all motor functions,” he finally manages to blurt out.

Logan doesn’t stop, and Lee’s heart beats out an interesting rhythm that seems too fast to be safe. He is paralyzed by fear. Logan doesn’t stop. Why the _fuck_ doesn’t Logan stop? “Freeze all motor functions,” Lee repeats, louder this time.

Logan pulls off, breathing hard. He keeps his hand around the base of Lee’s dick, and a slow smirk ignites over his face. Lee has never been more terrified or more turned on in his life. Logan says, hoarse, “Nah.”

“What?” is all that Lee can say before Logan squeezes hard around his length, and that’s it, that’s all she wrote. He comes in pulses across Logan’s face, aghast as he watches the hottest (and scariest) sight he’s ever witnessed. “What— you aren’t— wh-who are you—”

“I told you,” Logan says, climbing to his feet. He seems unbothered by the come across his face, reaching for a rag on the bar to wipe most of it away. There’s still a streak through his eyebrow, and Lee’s hand twitches as he fights the urge to clean it off. “My name is Logan.”

“Yeah, but you’re not—”

“Logan Delos,” Logan finishes, grinning.

Suddenly the puzzle pieces come colliding together at an alarming speed, leaving Lee staggering backward. Logan doesn’t let him go far, curling a palm around his elbow gently. It’s the only tender thing he’s done so far. “You’re—” Lee breathes in, out. “You’re Logan _Delos_.”

“Yes, that is what I just said, excellent work. And you are?”

“Fired,” Lee stares down at his pants around his ankles. “Fuck. Fuck, I’m so fired. Why did you pretend to be a fucking host? What’s wrong with you?”

“Oh, where do I start,” Logan laughs, and then adds, “You didn’t seem to mind a minute ago.” Lee doesn’t respond. He thinks he might be so stressed he’s going to rattle apart. “Calm down, I’m not gonna get you fired, asshole. It was just too easy to resist playing along. I mean, you made it _so_ easy!”

Unsurprisingly, this does not calm Lee down. Logan takes pity on him, smoothing his hand over his arm slowly. He asks again, “What’s your name?”

“Lee Sizemore,” Lee provides, still trying to breathe. He feels like he might just vibrate right out of his skin.

“Alright, Lee, settle down,” Logan says. “Have a drink. Hey, on the house.”

“God,” Lee practically whimpers. “I don’t— for once, I don’t— god, there’s still fucking— here,” he surges forward to wipe the come off of Logan’s brow with his thumb, because he tossed the rag away and there’s nothing else in reach, and also he kind of wants to do it himself. “Is it weird that I still want to—?”

“No,” Logan says, and that’s all the invitation Lee needs. He kisses him again, and it’s somehow even better than before; that is, until Logan breathes against his mouth, “You want me to put the hat back on?”

“No!” He pulls back to search Logan’s face for any sign of contempt but all he finds is lust and, for some reason, amusement. Lee rolls his eyes and then he’s the one falling down onto his knees, hands trailing down Logan’s body as he goes. “ _No_. I’ll just— I just wanna do this, and then we’ll never speak of it again, alright?”

“Sure,” Logan says, but there’s a twinkle in his eye that suggests that he knows Lee is full of shit.


End file.
